Regrets
by BlackPotterGrl
Summary: In the midst of the night, a memory and realization comes over Sirius. He learns that helping another might just be the thing he needs to help himself. No slash.


**Regrets**

_Dedicated to Sailoranime. _

Sirius lay in bed a few weeks after Harry had moved in with him, and, as it does in very mysterious ways, a long forgotten memory that had been stolen from him during his stay in hell, swept over him.

He could remember having wanted to attend the annual Christmas party as well and gotten as smashed as physically possible on the Ministry's dime after what had occurred with his brother. It had been nearly a week since James had come home with the report, set him down and let him read his brother's death certificate.

He had had stared at James long and hard, his face set in stone as he watched without really acknowledging the worry in his best friend's features. There had been a cold feeling settled inside his chest since that night.

Lily was going to stay home, watching Harry while James accompanied Sirius, making sure he didn't die of alcohol poisoning and getting him back to his apartment safely but Sirius decided that no one was going to have a decent time if he did so. He realized the only decent thing to do was let Lily and James enjoy their evening away from the lovely bundle of joy that was his godson.

It was his first time babysitting without Remus. Remus was having a lovely time in bed after a particularly dreadful session locked in an abandoned warehouse. The moon had been huge the previous night and he had been almost positive Remus was going to need hospitalization, but his friend had pulled himself together and declared he was to be left alone for no less than 24 hours. They had honored his wishes. No one could convince Remus they knew better than him when it came to his own health.

He watched little Harry scooting around the floor, not yet able to crawl and rather doing another variation in which he lay on his belly and dragged himself along. He babbled nonsense that Sirius couldn't help but note sounded a lot like real words. He was almost sure he had witnessed Harry look at him and say Sirius's name. As it was he heard 'mama', 'dada' and what he imagined was 'baby'.

It was nearly little Harry's bedtime. Sirius had been reading a book, half paying mind to his infant charge when he heard a large crash. He threw the book aside instantly and got to his feet, ready for a duel if need be. He look around to find that a poorly stacked pile of toys had collapsed. Less than a foot from the pile laid a very scared Harry who instantly began whimpering in fear. He picked the little boy up and held him tightly, rubbing circles in his tiny back.

He looked at the time and decided that it was close enough to Harry's bedtime to put him down. He carried the boy up the stairs, all the while Harry seemed to be keen on finding out who was holding him and was twisting awkwardly in Sirius's arms. He walked through the door to the child's nursery shushing him in attempts to sooth him so he would sleep peacefully.

That's when he felt it. Sirius looked to the side where he found Harry lying, resting against his shoulder. He expected Harry had just been getting his baring about him but he noticed after a short while the baby didn't seem to have a problem with the position and he realized after nearly five minutes that Harry had fallen asleep. He was instantly nervous. If he put the child down in his crib now, he risked waking his godson up. He looked around, careful not to nudge the baby boy in anyway and noticed the rocking chair in the corner. He sat down delicately, taking care in his movements.

He relaxed there for no discernable amount of time. He didn't find himself bored as he thought he might. On the contrary, he found himself at peace more so than he ever had in his life. He was slightly shocked by this. He wasn't one for sitting still as anyone who knew him was aware. He was bordering on having ADD in the opinion of Lily who knew what that was. He didn't feel anxious though, sitting there with his sleeping godson. He felt calm for the first time since his brother died.

And with that, the coldness inside of him seemed almost to dissipate. He had found something to warm it, it seemed.

"I love you, Harry." He had whispered very gently.

He had remembered that moment with such clarity he almost felt as though he was reliving it. He saw it all in hindsight differently. He thought that was probably the moment he had realized just how much he wished Harry was his own son. Why he had been so willing to share his newfound freedom with a not quite fifteen-year-old boy. He knew he wasn't Harry's father. He felt sick to his stomach when he realized that he was pretending to be, but it didn't stop him. In any case, it wasn't as though Harry didn't need one.

What with what had happened but a month ago, his godson had completely shut himself up in his own little world and if Sirius didn't reach out soon he would be stuck there. And if Sirius couldn't reach him, he didn't know anyone else that could.

He recalled the dreams he heard every night from above him. The way the bed seemed to squeak from beneath him as he bolted up after a dream. Or how the floor would reverberate as he accidentally fell out of bed after a particularly bad one. And worse still, when he fell to pieces afterwards. When his hysterics were evident enough that Sirius could hear them without having to strain his ears.

It had been occurring since Harry had moved in. He assumed even before that, in the presence of his aunt and uncle. He actually could remember the look that Harry's uncle had given him as he arrived to pick up his godson who would never again be returning to the house of his childhood. It was a mean sort of resentful look, all the while screaming 'Good luck… you're going to need it.' He had seen the expression on Harry's face upon registering this look. He resented the Dursleys all the more just in this fact.

If he had been a better person, Harry's first night Sirius would have gone up to Harry's room in the attic. He would have done something… anything! He was a terrible godfather. That much was certain. He couldn't remember himself at fourteen well enough to recall how he would have wanted the situation dealt with, though he had never been through anything such as what Harry had.

He had never seen anybody die at the hands of Voldemort. Never witnessed, and actually been forced to take part in the resurrection of the most vile and cruel man to walk the Earth. Never been forced to do battle and face his own death head on with nothing standing between life and death but the skills in magic he had obtained in the course of four years.

He could bring to mind how this had felt to him when, as an auror, he had dealt with this. How he had underwent two years of the most intense and excessive training of his life to find himself completely unprepared when facing battle.

But this was the hard fact; He couldn't put himself in Harry's position. He couldn't even imagine going from dealing with Potions homework, to Voldemort trying to kill him. Frankly, he didn't want to. Harry didn't stand a hope of sustaining his innocence. His youth having just been robbed of him prematurely, nightmares plaguing him on a nightly basis, Sirius would not be dealing with the same boy he had met a year ago. And that bothered him to no end.

He could only draw on what he had felt at the age of 20. The smirks and heroic fronts his friends and he had put up for the other's benefits. Trying to act like they weren't scared shitless when they were moments from pissing themselves. The fears not being what they had to deal with, but rather anyone seeing through their façade to the deeply rooted emotions they were experiencing. Or worse still: witnessing another's. They had been boys forced into men's clothing.

Even at age 20, Sirius had been a full-fledged man compared to Harry. He could remark on the boy's courage until the next full moon but that didn't make him a man. Compared to what his godson had been subjected to, he had no true comparison. He didn't know what he could do for his best friend's son. He couldn't fathom what would be appreciated. His distance? His Compassion? Sirius couldn't be sure.

His reluctance to confront his godson wasn't merely Harry's own discomfort with the situation of course. He, having just returned from the pits of hell, hadn't escaped with all of his original emotions. Not that compassion had ever even been in his nature. In fact, he could judge that he was more of a 'suck it up and get over it as quickly as possible' type of man. He couldn't say that the same was still evident. 12 years of trying and failing to do that had taken a bit of a toll on him.

But still, it was true that he had never actually offered empathy to another person before. Not really. It was obvious that he had no real skill it in and he was worried that he was going to botch it up; in which case, he could make the situation worse than it had been previously. Harry was in such a delicate position. One encounter with a hard-handed person such as Sirius could completely ruin everything. It could ruin their relationship, and that worried Sirius enough that he – despite his regular demeanor as an 'act first, ask questions later' type of person – wanted to wait it out. To plan things out before he went for it. He had so much to lose and was unlikely to gain very much.

He knew if he had gone up there the first night and uttered the advice he was so keen on giving Remus as a boy, repeating the words his father had spoken so often in his youth 'Suck it up! Be a man!', he was likely to give the kid a complex. It had done enough damage on Remus. Given him even more to cry about and eventually to carve that path of self-loathing he knew Remus had to deal with. It wasn't even as though he believed the words himself. It had just been easier to bury those emotions than to face them after a while.

And what right would he have to tell Harry that? To the 14-year-old's knowledge, he had been having a private moment with his emotions, unaware that he was keeping company with an eavesdropping thirty-year-old below him.

He wondered if it was too late now. If he would be unable to confront Harry about this now that he had waited so long. If he hadn't had the balls to do it then, what made him think he did now? What could he say to the boy? What advice could he possibly offer him?

He heard it. Above his head, startling him from his thoughts, he heard the squeak of the mattress as Harry awoke. If he listened hard enough he could hear the pants of breathing telling of horror and dismay. He found it took nearly three minutes before his godson was aware enough of the situation to realize it was a dream. That was when he began to cry. It was muffled, of course, in a failed attempt at trying to make himself go unheard.

He could tell the emotions of the moment. The desperation to escape the nightly torture he had to endure. Of course, it was as though his classmate had died before him only a moment ago and not a month and a half. There was a childishness to it as well that he could only assume was a deep-seated need for a parent that he had never been granted. It made him feel even more like he had failed to fulfill his promise to the Potter's.

There was no way Sirius could have missed it. He imagined possibly if he had been asleep he would have failed to notice the whole ordeal. It had been just his luck that he had been awake at one in the morning that night. After the first time, he had been curious to find if it was a nightly occurrence. He soon discovered it was. He didn't rest assured with the information. On the contrary, he found himself unable to fall into sleep until the bout of frenzy was over with above his head and that Harry was asleep. He found it impossible to even attempt to fall asleep until he knew his godson was safe and sleeping.

He had to do it. He had to do it now, actually. The longer he put this off, the less likely it was actually going to happen. He had rehearsed every word, gone over every scenario in his mind and anticipated every response imaginable.

He had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

But he had to do it anyway. If he didn't now, it wasn't going to happen. Harry was going to fall deeper and deeper into this pit of depression until no one would be able to reach him. And Sirius would die before letting that happen.

He swung his legs out of bed and silently made his way for the staircase. He was drawn between making a ton of noise so as Harry would know he was coming or being as gentle as possible. Relying on his earlier observation, he decided to try to make this as tender as possible.

As he had imagined many times before, Harry was buried beneath his comforter, taking up a very miniscule amount of space. He could visibly see that the boy was shaking violently beneath his quilt. It was almost too much for him to endure. The raw emotion in the room was nearly suffocating, and he had to struggle against the urge to submit; to retreat to his bedroom and pretend this wasn't happening.

He bore through it. He wasn't a boy and he could tell himself to 'be a man' without any shame. He was dealing with a fourteen-year-old kid now, how could this be frightening the wits out of him? He had faced death eaters head on. Underwent 12 years of psychological hell. He could stand to comfort his godson.

"Harry?" he whispered it. He had to admit, he hoped that Harry wouldn't hear him. He clenched his jaw in irritation at himself at his lack of courage. Harry was still shaking; noises met his ears as if through water as he was covered thoroughly by the blanket. He stepped forward timidly, watching Harry Potter, the savior of the wizard world shattered in thousands of pieces. Every time he had imagined the situation running over in his mind, it had never been this bad.

He walked until he stopped next to his bed, staring horrified; frozen and unsure of himself. "Harry?" he said again. This time his godson seemed to freeze as much as he could, his body still trembling viciously. The fact that he had scared him became evident immediately. He stepped forward immediately and stretched out a hand, placing it on his godson's quivering shoulder so gently he wondered whether Harry could feel it. "Harry, what's wrong?"

He couldn't see Harry's face but he could sense the mortification radiating off of him that he had been caught crying. His shaking slowed somewhat. Harry lay there unable to face the man, silently, as though if he were quiet enough Sirius would merely leave in seeing that he had stopped crying.

Finally, after nearly a minute, he spoke. "Are you okay?" Sirius pulled the covers down uncovering his head and sat on the very edge of the bed carefully. He looked past the darkness into the swollen eyes of the boy in front of him. "Harry… talk to me."

Harry turned to the side, obviously unwilling to have a conversation as to what was ailing him. "I didn't realize you could hear me." He whispered. Sirius had to lean forward to hear him, but still could barely make it out. Even so he could read the shame in his words.

He wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Did you have a dream?" Harry was still reluctant to speak. He sunk down in bed, however, as if he hadn't realized until just then how childish his behavior had been.

He turned towards Sirius. "I'm so sorry…" he looked devastated, as if he had committed the worst act imaginable. Sirius stared at him blankly, unaware that he had done anything. "I didn't mean to… I'm sorry." He buried his head in his pillow out of grief.

Sirius wasn't completely sure Harry was just sorry about what was currently going on. "Harry?"

It drew Harry's attention and he stared up at Sirius, green eyes wide. "Sirius?" as if he had just realized he was there

"Yeah, Har, it's me. What's wrong?"

Harry looked like he was going to start crying again. He moved quickly, knowing if he thought about this too much he would loose his nerve. He pulled Harry towards him. Harry began shaking again, but he didn't cry. He was whispering apologies again.

"Harry, what are you sorry about?"

"I didn't mean to…"

"Didn't mean to… what?"

"Kill him."

There was silence. Silence so deep he could actually hear the sounds of Harry shaking and his haphazard breathing.

"Diggory?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"I wasn't aware you had." The words were so unplanned, he paused after he said them and analyzed them for nearly a minute before Harry responded.

"It doesn't matter if I killed him. It's my fault he's dead." His voice seemed to vary in volume. The tone Harry used made him entirely certain he had waited too long. Isolated a grieving boy. Forced aggressions that should have been aimed towards the murderer, inwards. "I should be sent to hell."

"Harry." He didn't think about what he was about to do. He couldn't. He would be sorry for what he was about to do, but he wouldn't let himself regret it. He slapped the boy hard across the face. The boy's head remained where it had been forced. He seemed to be in shock. He began speaking in the moment before he would flee from the man and after he realized what had just occurred. When he caught the boy's face as he turned, he could not have felt worse.

"Harry. I've known people in my life that have dealt with a lot of guilt. I know people that were forced, by no fault of their own, to kill their own families under the effects of the imperious. You haven't the slightest clue what that does to a person. But never in my life have I encountered such irrational guilt." He drew the boy close and spoke firmly, but calmly.

"If, at anytime, you intended for your actions to hurt anyone in that graveyard other then Voldemort or Wormtail, you might have a shred of reason for feeling guilty about what happened. But I would stake my life on the fact that you wanted nothing more then for you and Diggory to return safely to Hogwarts. That you offered that cup to him with the purest of intentions that were not only justifiable, but honorable and noble. Intentions that you alone might have shared." Harry struggled to keep from meeting Sirius's eyes, but the man held him in place.

"If you regret anything that night, under the threat of dying and sight of death, realize that what came out of you was so surprisingly above and beyond what could be expected of you that I couldn't be more proud then if you killed Voldemort yourself." Harry, who had let his head hang down, as if trying to block out the words, snapped to attention at this.

"Realize, also, that even if you hadn't stood bravely in the face of Voldemort, but rather surrendered and begged for mercy, even agreed to become a death eater, that I would still love you more then anything in this world. You can't do anything that would change that, Harry." This seemed to affect him the most.

Harry looked straight into Sirius's eyes. The pit of his stomach seemed to go cold. As he looked into the emerald eyes he saw in his memories of Lily Potter. The darkness couldn't quell their brightness. He saw the longing in them unmistakably. How his words had triggered every vulnerable nerve in the teen's body in his desperate need to finally feel as though he didn't have to earn someone's love. That it was there unconditionally, and had been all along.

"No one has ever said that to me before." He confessed. He seemed scared Sirius would deem him unworthy of the statement and would retract it.

Sirius merely drew him into a hug, willing the horror of that thought away. "It's not the first time Harry, I swear to you. Nor will it be the last."

He took the boy in his arms moments before the teen began to cry. Harry leaned his head on the man's shoulder as he sobbed himself hoarse. Sirius listened, painfully aware of the boy's breathing.

He was nearly as grateful for the boy's company as he assumed Harry was his.

As the child's breathing slowed, he was certain the feeling he had encountered all those years ago was returning. Some of the coldness of Azkaban seemed to lift and ebb away. The coldness that had consumed him for so long had been warmed by something else.

The returned love of his Godson.


End file.
